


Through Fire and Blood

by Inu_Sama



Series: GAME OF THRONES [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, BAMF Daenerys Targaryen, Daenerys Targaryen centric, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Slow To Update, mother of dragons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-17 22:12:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16982742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inu_Sama/pseuds/Inu_Sama
Summary: A single angry howl reverberated through the narrow passageway and rattled her bones, shaking the very foundation of her being. The light came once again and she recognised it for what it was, for what it had always been;Fire.





	Through Fire and Blood

_ It was  _ **_that_ ** _ dream again. _

_ Daenerys was walking through what the books said was the Red Keep, but it was wrong. It was all wrong. There was no one else around, a silence that she had never experienced; one completely and utterly absent of life.  _

_ The moon rose high and swollen in the clear night sky, casting silver light onto the sandstone walls and floors in long streaks. _

_ Her booted footsteps were light and measured, but in the absolute quiet, they were almost deafening. Without being told, she knew where she was heading.  _

_ It was the same every time, the nights she dreamt of such a place it was as if she was being shown something. Something important.  _

_ As every time the dream lasted a little longer, she was shown a little more. Daenerys could feel it in her bones; something was coming, something big. _

_ And she was a part of it. _

_ Not the whole, she would never think herself so arrogant, but a part. How large or important that part was, she didn't know. Yet. _

_ The air became colder the closer she got to that room; the Throne Room.  _

_ The doors were an icy burn under her thin fingers as she gave a great heave and the aged dark wood parted, creaking ominously in the unnatural quiet.  _

_ She almost stumbled, but caught herself at the last moment as she gazed around with sad eyes. _

_ It looked a mess. The roof was caved in, the brilliant stain glass windows shattered and colourless.  _

_ The brick fortress that had stood for a thousand years was charred and crumbling away, leaving thin sections to rise from the earth like frostbitten fingers reaching for the heavens, for help.  _

_ Thick banks of snow covered the floors here, blanketing everything in an ethereal glow as the moon speared through the broken windows. _

_ Flakes of snow and ash alike spiralled from above, catching in her long hair as she approached the Iron Throne.  _

_ Curiously enough, the Throne had remained untouched, snow the only thing to marr its surface. In her dreams, the cold never bothered her, much like in her waking hours.  _

_ Her brother always told her that a true dragon always ran hotter than anyone else, that a simple drift in temperature was not enough to fell them.  _

_ At those times she refrained from mentioning how often Viserys became ill in colder weather, especially when they were living like rats in the streets of Myr and they spent their nights huddled against piss-soaked buildings to stave off the bitter winds.  _

_ She would always remember that as the only times her brother touched her gently, held her in his arms and buried his frozen nose into her neck. It was the only time he would show her any sort of love, and only because she was useful. _

_ Daenerys mounted the smooth stone steps onto the wide dias with a bitter smile and was about to place her fingers upon the frosted arm when she heard it; a desperate cry.  _

_ Her head whipped to the side, throne forgotten in the wake of such mournful shrills. They sounded again, two other voices joining the first and she felt her heart wrench. _

_ She didn't know who they were or what they were doing in such a desolate place, but she knew they were hers.  _

_ They were hers and she needed to go to them, needed to lay her warm hands on them and whisper sweet reassurances into their ears.  _

_ Daenerys found herself walking away from the Throne, her once thought ticket to freedom, without a second glance. The owners of those cries were more important, invariably so. _

_ She followed a narrow path that turned rocky and uneven, those cries bouncing off the walls and echoing down the long hallway. She could not see an end, just fathomless darkness.  _

_ Once she was sure to have been walking for an age, a single prick of bright orange light flashed in the distance. Daenerys gasped and started moving faster, almost at a run when the light flashed again, larger this time. _

_ A single angry howl reverberated through the narrow passageway and rattled her bones, shaking the very foundation of her being. The light came once again and she recognised it for what it was, for what it had always been;  _

**_Fire_ ** _.  _

 

Daenerys woke with a gasp, the linens of her bed sticking to her back unpleasantly and her silver-white hair fanning out over the multitude of pillows Illyrio had insisted upon.

The simple silk sheet she had been using instead of the downy quilt on the other side of her bed, was twisted around her bare legs and around her middle. 

She sighed and freed herself from her too-warm bed, the light gown she wore hanging off her thin shoulders as she padded to the balcony. 

She did not see the small scorch marks blackening the white mattress, a mystery for the maids to ponder over when they would come for the soiled sheets in the morning.

For now, one of the last Targaryens stared up at the halfmoon in askance, fingers wrapping around the cool metal banister of her balcony. 

She breathed in the fresh summer air, such a contrast to the biting winds in her dreams that cleaved through her lungs like sharp knives. The air here was not so nearly dry, every breath feeling like the steam of a warm bath rising up into her nose and down the back of her throat.

That was the furthest she had come in her dreams, another puzzle piece to add to the collection. Her heart still beat with phantom twinges as the cries of someone lost and  _ abandoned  _ echoed in her ears, just on the peripheral of her hearing. 

Heart sitting heavy in her chest, Daenerys leaned over the railing to watch the fireflies dance in the lush gardens dozens of slaves were made to tend on her host's command.

It disgusted her, that man could subjugate their own, could kill and maim and pillage without a second thought. Without hesitation. 

She sighed and wandered back into her room, toes digging into the plush fur rugs surrounding her bed before reluctantly climbing back in. 

Her night sweats had soaked the side of the bed closest to the balcony so she was forced to wiggle her way to the other side, pushing the thick quilt off the bed completely. 

She never needed it, but the maids just couldn't understand how she could not be cold in a stone room with the balcony open to the chilly night air so much.

She had never fallen ill, so it wasn't like they could insist she act more normal. Sleeping in what amounts to an ice box every night was her own prerogative. Daenerys normally revelled in the heat, but the weather here was too wet for her to truly enjoy it. 

She needed the dry burning of a desert sun and hot sand under her feet to ever feel comfortable. Here she would rather the cold than this sticky wet heat that clung to her skin and made it slick as it clogged her airways.

Daenerys made herself comfortable, curled on her side to face the slight breeze of the open balcony, weak moonlight landing in streaks on the edge of her bed. The light wavered and shivered like water as dark clouds passed overhead. 

It would rain soon, for days the clouds had been looking full and discoloured from their common fluffy white. Perhaps it would be today they finally burst, perhaps this wet heat would finally abate and she could breathe without the sweat curling down her spine.

Today was the day her brother was selling her off to what she had been told were little more than savages. She thought it fitting that the sky cry the way she could not, had not been able to since she was but a babe and under the not so tender care of Viserys' short temper. 

To cry was to be weak, to cry in front of others was to admit defeat. Giving up only cheapened your own self worth and the worth of your goals.

So, she had to thank her brother, because without such a harsh childhood with no one to count on she would not have valyrian steel threading through her spine as she did now. 

She would not have the strength to bear the thought of being thrust into a completely different culture. One where they spoke a language she did not know and freely embodied the evils of mankind. 

She supposed the only saving grace she could deem at this point was that they didn't lie about it like the people of the Free Cities and beyond did.


End file.
